In this section

CHAPTER XIII.

KENSINGTON GARDENS.

"Where Kensington, luxuriant in her bowers,
Sees snow of blossoms, and a wild of flowers;
The dames of Britain oft in crowds repair
To gravel walks and unpolluted air:
Here, while the town in damps and darkness lies,
They breathe in sunshine and see azure skies;
Each walk, with robes of various dyes bespread,
Seems from afar a moving tulip-bed,
Where rich brocades and glossy damasks glow.
And chintz, the rival of the showery bow."—Tickell.

"Military" Appearance of the Gardens, as laid out by Wise and Loudon—Addison's Comments on the Horticultural Improvements of his Time—The Gardens as they appeared at the Beginning of the Last Century—Queen Anne's Banqueting House—Statue of Dr. Jenner—Bridgeman's
Additions to the Gardens—The "Ha! ha!"—"Capability" Brown—The Gardens first opened to the Public—A Foreigner's Opinion of
Kensington Gardens—"Tommy Hill" and John Poole—Introduction of Rare Plants and Shrubs—Scotch Pines and other Trees—A Friendly
Flash of Lightning—The Reservoir and Fountains—Tickell, and his Poem on Kensington Gardens—Chateaubriand—Introduction of Hooped
Petticoats—The Broad Walk becomes a Fashionable Promenade—Eccentricities in Costume—The Childhood of Queen Victoria, and her
Early Intercourse with her Future Subjects—A Critical Review of the Gardens.

The gardens attached to Kensington Palace, when
purchased by William III., did not exceed twentysix acres. They were immediately laid out according to the royal taste; and this being entirely
military, the consequence was that closely-cropped
yews, and prim holly hedges, were taught, under
the auspices of Loudon and Wise, the royal gardeners, to imitate the lines, angles, bastions, scarps,
and counter-scarps of regular fortifications. This
curious upper garden, we are told, was long "the
admiration of every lover of that kind of horticultural embellishment," and, indeed, influenced the
general taste of the age; for Le Nautre, or Le
Notre, who was gardener to the Tuileries, and had
been personally favoured by Louis XIV., in conjunction with the royal gardeners, was employed by
most of the nobility, during the reign of William,
in laying out their gardens and grounds. Addison,
in No. 477 of the Spectator, thus speaks of the
horticultural improvements of this period:—"I
think there are as many kinds of gardening as of
poetry: your makers of pastures and flower-gardens
are epigrammatists and sonneteers in this art;
contrivers of bowers and grottoes, treillages and
cascades, are romantic writers; Wise and Loudon
are our heroic poets; and if, as a critic, I may
single out any passage of their works to commend,
I shall take notice of that part in the upper garden
at Kensington which was at first nothing but a
gravel-pit. It must have been a fine genius for
gardening that could have thought of forming such
an unsightly hollow into so beautiful an area, and to
have hit the eye with so uncommon and agreeable
a scene as that which it is now wrought into."

In 1691 these gardens are thus described:—"They are not great, nor abounding with fine
plants. The orange, lemon, myrtle, and what
other trees they had there in summer, were all
removed to London, or to Mr. Wise's greenhouse
at Brompton Park, a little mile from there. But
the walks and grass were very fine, and they were
digging up a plot of four or five acres to enlarge
their gardens." Queen Anne added some thirty
acres more, which were laid out by her gardener,
Wise. Bowack, in 1705, describes here "a noble
collection of foreign plants, and fine neat greens,
which makes it pleasant all the year. . . . Her
Majesty has been pleased lately to plant near
thirty acres more to the north, separated from the
rest only by a stately greenhouse, not yet finished."
It appears from this passage that, previous to the
above date, Kensington Gardens did not extend
further to the north than the conservatory, which,
as stated in the previous chapter, was originally
built for a banqueting-house, and was frequently
used as such by Queen Anne. This banquetinghouse was completed in the year 1705, and is
considered a fine specimen of brickwork. The
south front has rusticated columns supporting a
Doric pediment, and the ends have semi-circular
recesses. "The interior, decorated with Corinthian
columns," Mr. John Timbs tells us in his "Curiosities," "was fitted up as a drawing-room, musicroom, and ball-room; and thither the queen was
conveyed in her chair from the western end of the
palace. Here were given full-dress fêtes à la
Watteau, with a profusion of 'brocaded robes,
hoops, fly-caps, and fans,' songs by the court
lyrists, &c." When the Court left Kensington,
this building was converted into an orangery and
greenhouse.

Just within the boundary of the gardens at the
south-eastern corner, on slightly rising ground, is
the Albert Memorial, which we have already described, (fn. 1) and not far distant is the statue of
Dr. Jenner, the originator of vaccination. This
statue, which is of bronze, represents the venerable
doctor in a sitting posture. It is the work of
William Calder Marshall, and was originally set
up in Trafalgar Square in 1858, but was removed
hither about four years afterwards.

The eastern boundary of the gardens would seem
to have been in Queen Anne's time nearly in the
line of the broad walk which crosses them on the
east side of the palace. The kitchen-gardens,
which extended north of the palace, towards the
gravel-pits, but are now occupied by some elegant
villas and mansions, and the thirty acres lying
north of the conservatory, added by Queen Anne
to the pleasure-gardens, may have been the fifty-five
acres "detached and severed from the park, lying
in the north-west corner thereof," granted in the
reign of Charles II. to Hamilton, the Ranger of
Hyde Park, and Birch, the auditor of excise, "to
be walled and planted with 'pippins and redstreaks,' on condition of their furnishing apples or
cider for the king's use." This portion of the
garden is thus mentioned in Tickell's poem:—
"That hollow space, where now, in living rows,
Line above line, the yew's sad verdure grows,
Was, ere the planter's hand its beauty gave,
A common pit, a rude unfashion'd cave.
The landscape, now so sweet, we well may praise;
But far, far sweeter, in its ancient days—
Far sweeter was it when its peopled ground
With fairy domes and dazzling towers was crown'd.
Where, in the midst, those verdant pillars spring,
Rose the proud palace of the Elfin king;
For every hedge of vegetable green,
In happier years, a crowded street was seen;
Nor all those leaves that now the prospect grace
Could match the numbers of its pigmy race."

At the end of the avenue leading from the south
part of the palace to the wall on the Kensington
Road is an alcove built by Queen Anne's orders;
so that the palace, in her reign, seems to have
stood in the midst of fruit and pleasure gardens,
with pleasant alcoves on the west and south, and
the stately banqueting-house on the east, the whole
confined between the Kensington and Uxbridge
Roads on the north and south, with Palace Green
on the west; the line of demarcation on the east
being the broad walk before the east front of the
palace.

Bridgeman, who succeeded Wise as the fashionable designer of gardens, was employed by Queen
Caroline, consort of George II., to plant and lay
out, on a larger scale than had hitherto been attempted, the ground which had been added to the
gardens by encroaching upon Hyde Park. Bridgeman's idea of the picturesque led him to abandon
"verdant sculpture," and he succeeded in effecting
a complete revolution in the formal and square precision of the foregoing age, although he adhered
in parts to the formal Dutch style of straight walks
and clipped hedges. A plan of the gardens, published in 1762, shows on the north-east side a low
wall and fosse, reaching from the Uxbridge Road
to the Serpentine, and effectually shutting in the
gardens. Across the park, to the east of Queen
Anne's Gardens, immediately in front of the palace,
a reservoir was formed with the "round pond;"
thence, as from a centre, long vistas or avenues
were carried through the wood that encircled the
water—one as far as the head of the Serpentine;
another to the wall and fosse above mentioned,
affording a view of the park; a third avenue led to
a mount on the south-east side, which was raised
with the soil dug in the formation of the adjoining
canal, and planted with evergreens by Queen Anne.
This mount, which has since been levelled again,
or, at all events, considerably reduced, had on the
top a revolving "prospect house." There was also
in the gardens a "hermitage:" a print of it is to
be seen in the British Museum. The low wall
and fosse was introduced by Bridgeman as a substitute for a high wall, which would shut out the
view of the broad expanse of park as seen from the
palace and gardens; and it was deemed such a
novelty that it obtained the name of a "Ha! ha!"
derived from the exclamation of surprise involuntarily uttered by disappointed pedestrians. At
each angle of this wall and fosse, however, semicircular projections were formed, which were termed
bastions, and in this particular the arrangement
accorded with the prevailing military taste. Bridgeman's plan of gardening, however, embraced the
beauties of flowers and lawns, together with a
wilderness and open groves; but the principal
embellishments were entrusted to Mr. Kent, and
subsequently carried out by a gentleman well known
by the familiar appellation of "Capability" Brown.
The gardens, it may be added, are still sufficiently
rural to make a home for the nightingale, whose
voice is often heard in the summer nights, especially in the part nearest to Kensington Gore.

"Here England's daughter, darling of the land,
Sometimes, surrounded with her virgin band,
Gleams through the shades. She, towering o'er the rest,
Stands fairest of the fairer kind confest;
Form'd to gain hearts that Brunswick's cause denied,
And charm a people to her father's side.

"Long have these groves to royal guests been known,
Nor Nassau, first, preferred them to a throne.
Ere Norman banners waved in British air;
Ere lordly Hubba with the golden hair
Pour'd in his Danes; ere elder Julius came;
Or Dardan Brutus gave our isle a name;
A prince of Albion's lineage graced the wood,
The scene of wars, and stained with lover's blood."

On King William taking up his abode in the
palace, the neighbouring town of Kensington and
the outskirts of Hyde Park became the abode of
fashion and of the hangers-on at the Court, whilst
the gardens themselves became the scene of a plot
for assassinating William, and replacing James II.
on the throne. The large gardens laid out by
Queen Caroline were opened to the public on
Saturdays, when the King and Court went to Richmond, and on these occasions all visitors were required to appear in full dress. When the Court
ceased to reside here, the gardens were thrown open
in the spring and summer; they, nevertheless, long
continued to retain much of their stately seclusion.
The gardens are mentioned in the following terms
by the poet Crabbe, in his "Diary:"—"Drove to
Kensington Gardens: . . . effect new and striking.
Kensington Gardens have a very peculiar effect;
not exhilarating, I think, yet alive [lively] and
pleasant." It seems, however, that the public had
not always access to this pleasant place; for, in
the "Historical Recollections of Hyde Park," by
Thomas Smith, we find a notice of one Sarah Gray
having had granted her a pension of £18 a year,
as a compensation for the loss of her husband,
who was "accidentally shot by one of the keepers
while hunting a fox in Kensington Gardens."

According to Sir Richard Phillips, in "Modern
London," published in 18 4, the gardens were open
to the public at that time only from spring to
autumn; and, curiously enough, servants in livery
were excluded, as also were dogs. Thirty years
later the gardens are described as being open "all
the year round, to all respectably-dressed persons,
from sunrise till sunset." About that time, when it
happened that the hour for closing the gates was
eight o'clock, the following lines, purporting to have
been written "by a young lady aged nineteen," were
discovered affixed to one of the seats:—
"Poor Adam and Eve were from Eden turned out,
As a punishment due to their sin;
But here after eight, if you loiter about,
As a punishment you'll be locked in."

It may be added that now, on stated days during
the "London season," the scene in these gardens
is enlivened by the exhilarating strains of military
bands. It is stated by Count de Melfort, in his
"Impressions of England," published in the reign
of William IV., that the Duke of St. Albans—we
suppose, as Grand Falconer of England—is the
only subject, except members of the royal family,
who has the right of entering Kensington Palace
Gardens in his carriage. The fact may be true,
but it wants verifying.

The author of an agreeable "Tour of a Foreigner
in England," published in 1825, remarks:—"The
Palais Royale gives a better idea of the London
squares than any other part of Paris. The public
promenades are St. James's Park, Hyde Park, and
Kensington Gardens, which communicate with
each other. I am sometimes tempted to prefer
these parks to the gardens of the Luxembourg and
the Tuileries, which, however, cannot give you any
idea of them. St. James's Park, Hyde Park, and
Kensington Gardens are to me the Tuileries, the
Champs Élysees, and the Jardin des Plantes united.
On Sundays the crowd of carriages which repair
thither, and the gentlemen of fashion who exhibit
their horsemanship with admirable dexterity in the
ride, remind me of Long Champs; but hackney
coaches are not allowed to enter here to destroy
the fine spectacle which so many elegant carriages
afford. Sheep graze tranquilly in Hyde Park,
where it is also pleasing to see the deer bounding
about. At Kensington Gardens you are obliged
to leave your horse or carriage standing at the gate.
Walking through its shady alleys I observed with
pleasure that the fashionable ladies pay, in regard
to dress, a just tribute to our fair countrywomen.
Judging from the costumes of the ladies, you might
sometimes fancy yourself walking under the chestnut
trees of the Tuileries. A line of Tasso may very
well be applied to Kensington Gardens:—

'L'arte che tutto fa, nulla si scuopre.'"

Within the last half century these gardens have
been greatly improved by drainage, relaying, and
replanting. Much of the surrounding walls, too,
have been removed, and in their place handsome
iron railings have been substituted. The leading features of the gardens at the present time
are the three avenues above mentioned, radiating
from the east front of the palace, through dense
masses of trees. Immediately in front of the
palace is a quaintly-designed flower garden, separated from the Kensington Road by some fine old
elm-trees. The broad walk, fifty feet in width, was
once the fashionable promenade. "Tommy Hill,"
and his friend John Poole, who made him his
great character in Paul Pry, with "I hope I don't
intrude," used to walk daily together here. All the
surrounding parts are filled in with stately groups
of ancient trees; and the total absence of anything
that indicates the proximity of the town, renders
this spot particularly pleasant and agreeable for a
stroll on a summer's evening. Keeping along the
eastern margin of the gardens, and crossing the end
of the broad avenue, the visitor soon reaches a new
walk formed about the time of the first Great Exhibition. Here will be found a large number of
new and rarer kind of shrubs, with their popular
and technical names all legibly inscribed. Weale,
in his work on London, published in 1851, says:—"It is in the introduction of these rarer plants that
the idea of a 'garden' is, perhaps, better sustained
than in most of the other features of the place,
which are those of a park. The demand, indeed,
for evergreens and undergrowth in these gardens is
most urgent; and if (which we greatly doubt) there
exists a well-founded objection to the use of shrubs
and bushes in tufts or in single plants, there certainly can be no reason why solitary specimens, or
varied groups of the many kinds of thorn, pyrus,
mespilus, laburnum, pine and fir, evergreen, oaks,
hollies, yews, &c., should not be most extensively
planted, and a large portion of the younger and
smaller trees in the densest parts cut away to make
room for them." With reference to the trees in
these gardens, a correspondent of the Times newspaper, in May, 1876, observes:—"The crowds who
flock to Bushy Park or Kew do not see anything
more fair than the tree-pictures now in Kensington
Gardens, to which I beg to call the attention of all
lovers of trees. The hawthorns and horse-chestnuts
are now in marvellous beauty, though one rarely
sees anybody taking the least notice of them. All
the blaze of the autumnal 'bedding out' is in point
of beauty as nothing to what is now afforded here
by a few kinds of ordinary hardy trees that cost
little at first and take care of themselves afterwards.
There is a little open lawn with a small lime-tree
in its centre, quite near the 'Row' corner of the
gardens, around which there are several charming
aspects of tree-beauty. One hawthorn is about
forty feet high. Some of the central and unfrequented portions of the gardens are the most
attractive. Nobody can despair of growing flowering trees to his heart's content in London after
seeing the mountains of horse-chestnut bloom and
other masses of tree-flowers here. Let those interested see the old trees in the central parts as well
as the newer plantations, which, however, are also
beautiful."

At the north side, nearly facing Porchester
Terrace, there are some fine trees, including Scotch
pines, which, a few years ago, were a glory to the
neighbourhood, and are duly celebrated by Mr.
Matthew Arnold in his verses on Kensington
Gardens. Some of these, however, became so
decayed that they were cut down by order of Her
Majesty's Woods and Forests, in 1875.

THE FLOWER WALKS, KENSINGTON GARDENS.

The author of "Reminiscences of Fifty Years"
tells an amusing story with reference to one of the
trees in this part of the gardens. He was one day
praising the charming view which some friends of
his commanded from their drawing-room window
overlooking the gardens. "Yes, the view would
be perfect, if the branch of that large tree," to
which they specially drew his attention, "did not
interrupt it." "Well," remarked the other, "it is
somewhat singular that I walked to your door
with the nearest relative in London of the Chief
Commissioner of Woods and Forests (the Right
Hon. Mr. Milne), and I shall ask him to inquire
whether the branch can be removed without injury
to the royal tree." "I accordingly wrote to my
friend in the evening (Tuesday)," continues the
author, "and on Thursday morning my friends discovered, to their infinite satisfaction, that the obtrusive branch had disappeared; and, as a natural
sequence, I came in for a warm benediction, and
the Woods and Forests for their full share of praise
as an exceptional department of the State, where
red tape was not used, and circumlocution unknown. The Chief Commissioner, on reading my
note to his relative, gave orders on the Wednesday
to the superintendent of Kensington Gardens to
look at the tree, and if the branch could be taken
off without serious prejudice, it was to be done.
The superintendent reported at head-quarters on
the Thursday that on visiting the tree at an early
hour that morning he found the branch in question
lying on the ground, having been struck off by lightning during the heavy storm of the previous night.
The Chief Commissioner wrote an amusing letter
on the occasion, alleging that I really must be
one 'who could call spirits from the vasty deep,'
and had evidently transferred my powers to Kensington Gardens, acting on the suggestion given in
Richard III., 'With lightning strike the murderer
dead.' The same day," adds the author, "I visited
the tree, which appeared, saving the amputation of
the large branch, to have escaped all other injury.
Had other trees not suffered severely in Kensington
Gardens that night, it might have led to a special
inquiry or inquest to ascertain whether it was
lightning or a saw that I had employed in obliging
my friends. I told them they owed everything
to the lightning; as I was much inclined to think
that the Chief Commissioner, with every desire to
meet their wishes, might possibly have deemed it
his duty to postpone the consideration of the
removal of so large and umbrageous a branch from
the royal demesne to the Greek Calends."

OUTFALL OF WESTBOURNE.

Of the bridge over the Serpentine, at the northeast corner of the Gardens, we have already given
an illustration. (fn. 2) At some distance on the west
side of this bridge, as it leaves the Uxbridge Road,
the Serpentine has been divided into a series of
four large basins or reservoirs, of octangular form,
each of which has a small fountain in the centre,
encompassed with marble. In the central pathway,
running between the basins, there is a larger fountain, of octagonal form. The end of the reservoir
nearest the bridge forms an ornamental façade,
enriched with vases of various patterns, filled with
flowers. The centre of this façade has two draped
female figures, seated, holding vases, from which
flow streams; and between these two figures, but
projecting forward, is another large fountain. The
height of this balustraded façade is about eight feet
above the water-level. At the other end of the
reservoirs is an engine-house, containing engines
for working the fountains. This building is of
Italian design, and roofed with red Italian tiles.
It stands just within the Gardens, at a short distance
from the Bayswater Road.

Kensington Gardens have been celebrated by
Tickell in the poem which bears their name, and
from which we have quoted above; "verses," says
Charles Knight, "full of fairies and their dwarfs,
and Dryads and Naiads; verses made to order,
and which have wholly perished as they deserve to
perish." Tickell enjoyed the patronage of Addison,
contributed papers to the Spectator, was contemporary with Pope, and published a translation of
the "First Book of the Iliad," from his own pen, in
apparent opposition to Pope's "Homer," of which
the first part was published at the same time.
As we read in Johnson's "Lives of the Poets,"
"Addison declared that the rival versions were
both good, but Tickell's was the best. His poem
on 'Kensington Gardens,' with the fairy tale introduced, is much admired; the versification is smooth
and elegant. He is said to have been a man of
gay conversation, but in his domestic relations
without censure." Musical attractions were not
wanting here in Tickell's time, if we may judge
from the following couplet, which refers to Kensington Gardens:—

"Nor the shrill corn-pipe, echoing loud to arms,
To rank and file reduce the straggling swarms."

Readers of the "Life of Chateaubriand" will
remember that he was one of those who admired
and enjoyed the repose of the leafy walks of these
Gardens. Professor Robertson, in his "Lectures
on Modern History and Biography," tells us how
the venerable sage "would stroll under these beautiful trees, where in the days of his exile he used to
meet his fellow-sufferers, the French priests, reciting
their breviary—those trees under which he had indulged in many a reverie, under which he had
breathed many a sigh for his home in La Belle
France, under which he had finished 'Atala,' and
had composed 'Réné.'"

Kensington Palace and its Gardens were the first
places where the hooped petticoats of our greatgrandmother's days were displayed by ladies of
fashion and "quality." We do not purpose giving
here a history of Englishwomen's dress; but it may
be as well to record the fact that the hoop appears
to have been the invention of a Mrs. Selby, whose
novelty is made the subject of a pamphlet, published
at Bath, under the title of "The Farthingale Reviewed; or, more Work for the Cooper: a Panegyrick
on the late but most admirable invention of the
Hooped Petticoat." The talented lady who invented it died in 1717, and is thus mentioned by a
Mrs. Stone, in the "Chronicles of Fashion:" "How
we yearn to know something more of Mrs. Selby,
her personal appearance, her whereabouts, her
habits, and her thoughts. Can no more be said of
her, whose inventive genius influenced the empire
for well-nigh a century, who, by the potency of a rib
of whalebone, held the universal realm of fashion
against the censures of the press, the admonitions of
the pulpit, and the common sense of the whole
nation? Mrs. Tempest, the milliner, had her
portrait taken by Kent, and painted on the staircase of Kensington Palace; and what was Mrs.
Tempest that her lineaments should be preserved,
whilst those of Mrs. Selby, the inventor of the
hoop, are suffered to fall into oblivion?"

It was during the reign of George I. that the
fashionable promenades in the Gardens became so
popular, and the glittering skirts, which still lived
in the recollection of our grandparents, would seem
to have made their first appearance. Caroline of
Anspach, the Prince of Wales's consort, probably
introduced them, when she came with her bevy of
maidens to Court. People would throng to see
them; the ladies would take the opportunity of
showing themselves, like pea-hens, in the walks;
persons of fashion, privileged to enter the Gardens,
would avail themselves of the privilege; and at
last the public would obtain admission, and the
raree-show would be complete. The full-dress
promenade, it seems, was at first confined to Saturdays; it was afterwards changed to Sundays, and
continued on that day till the custom went out
with the closing days of George III.

In fact, during the last century the broad walk
in Kensington Gardens had become almost as
fashionable a promenade as the Mall in St. James's
Park had been a century earlier, under Charles II.
There might, probably, have been seen here, on
one and the same day, during the portentous
year 1791, Wilkes and Wilberforce; George Rose
and Mr. Holcroft; Mr. Reeve and Mr. Godwin;
Burke, Warren Hastings, and Tom Paine; Horace
Walpole and Hannah More (whom he introduced
to the Duke of Queensberry); Mary Wolstonecroft
and Miss Burney (Madame d'Arblay), the latter
avoiding the former with all her might; the
Countess of Albany (the widow of the Pretender);
the Margravine of Anspach; Mrs. Montagu; Mrs.
Barbauld; Mrs. Trimmer; Emma Harte (Lady
Hamilton), accompanied by her adoring portraitpainter, Romney; and poor Madame du Barry,
mistress of Louis XV., come to look after some
jewels of which she has been robbed, and little
thinking she would return to be guillotined. The
fashions of this half century, with the exception of
an occasional broad-brimmed hat worn both by
gentlemen and ladies, comprised the ugliest that
ever were seen in the old Court suburb. Headdresses became monstrous compounds of pasteboard, flowers, feathers, and pomatum; the hoop
degenerated into little panniers; and about the
year 1770, a set of travelled fops came up, calling
themselves Macaronis (from their intimacy with
the Italian eatable so called), who wore ridiculously
little hats, large pigtails, and tight-fitting clothes
of striped colours. The lesser pigtail, long or
curly, prevailed for a long time among elderly
gentlemen, making a powdered semicircle between
the shoulders; a plain cocked-hat adorned their
heads; and, on a sudden, at the beginning of the
new century, some of the ladies took to wearing
turbans, surmounted with ostrich feathers, and
bodies literally without a waist, the girdle coming
directly under the arms. There was a song in
those days, beginning—

"Shepherds, I have lost my love;
Have you seen my Anna?"

This song was parodied by one beginning—

"Shepherds, I have lost my waist;
Have you seen my body?"

Lady Brownlow, in her "Reminiscences of a
Septuagenarian," tells us that after the Peace of
Amiens, in 1802, she here met the celebrated
Madame Recamier, who created a sensation at the
West-end, partly by her beauty, but still more by
her dress, which was vastly unlike the unsophisticated style and poke bonnets of the English ladies.
"She appeared in Kensington Gardens à l'antique,
a muslin gown clinging to her form like the folds
of drapery on a statue; her hair in a plait at the
back, and falling in small ringlets round her face,
and greasy with huile antique; a large veil thrown
over her head completed her attire, which not
unnaturally caused her to be followed and stared
at." No doubt, dressed in such a costume, and
at such a period, Madame Recamier might well
have been the "cynosure of neighbouring eyes."

During the early childhood of Her Majesty
Queen Victoria, when living with her royal mother
in Kensington Palace, the little princess was daily
to be seen running about these gardens, or riding
on her donkey about its walks; and her intercourse
with the visitors there, we are assured by the
author of an "Anecdotal Memoir of Her Majesty,"
was of a very interesting description. Some
anecdotes upon this subject may be well introduced
by the following remarks of a correspondent to
the editor of a daily newspaper, when the princess
was nearly three years old:—

"Passing accidentally through Kensington
Gardens, a few days since, I observed at some
distance a party, consisting of several ladies, a
young child, and two men-servants, having in
charge a donkey, gaily caparisoned with blue
ribbons, and accoutred for the use of the infant.
The appearance of the party, and the general
attention they attracted, led me to suspect they
might be the royal inhabitants of the palace; I
soon learnt that my conjectures were well founded,
and that her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent
was in maternal attendance, as is her daily custom,
upon her august and interesting daughter, in the
enjoyment of her healthful exercise. On approaching the royal party, the infant princess, observing
my respectful recognition, nodded, and wished me
a 'good morning' with much liveliness, as she
skipped along between her mother and her sister,
the Princess Feodore, holding a hand of each.
Having passed on some paces, I stood a moment
to observe the actions of the royal child, and was
pleased to see that the gracious notice with which
she honoured me was extended, in a greater or less
degree, to almost every person she met: thus does
this fair scion of our royal house, while yet an
infant, daily make an impression on the hearts of
many individuals which will not easily be forgotten.
Her Royal Highness is remarkably beautiful, and
her gay and animated countenance bespeaks perfect
health and good temper. Her complexion is
excessively fair, her eyes large and expressive, and
her cheeks blooming. She bears a very striking
resemblance to her late royal father, and, indeed,
to every member of our reigning family; but the
soft beauty, and (if I may be allowed the term) the
dignity of her infantine countenance, peculiarly
reminded me of our late beloved Princess
Charlotte."

"This favourite donkey," we are further told
by the above-mentioned authority, "a present from
the Duke of York, bore his royal mistress daily
round the gardens, to her great delight; so fond,
indeed, was she of him, and of the exercise which
he procured for her, that it was generally necessary
to persuade her that the donkey was tired or
hungry in order to induce her to alight. Even at
this very early age, the princess took great pleasure
in mixing with the people generally, and seldom
passed anybody in the gardens, either when riding
in her little carriage or upon her donkey, without
accosting them with, 'How do you do?' or 'Goodmorning, sir,' or 'lady;' and always seemed pleased
to enter into conversation with strangers, returning
their compliments or answering their questions in
the most distinct and good-humoured manner.
The young princess showed her womanly nature as
a particular admirer of children, and rarely allowed
an infant to pass her without requesting permission
to inspect it and to take it in her arms. She
expressed great delight at meeting a young ladies'
school, and always had something to say to most
of the children, but particularly to the younger
ones. When a little older, she was remarkable for
her activity, as, holding her sister Feodore in one
hand, and the string of her little cart in the other,
with a moss-rose fastened into her bosom, she
would run with astonishing rapidity the whole
length of the broad gravel walk, or up and down
the green hills with which the gardens abound, her
eyes sparkling with animation and glee, until the
attendants, fearful of the effects of such violent
exercise, were compelled to put a stop to it, much
against the will of the little romp; and although a
large assemblage of well-dressed ladies, gentlemen,
and children would, on such occasions, form a
semicircle round the scene of amusement, their
presence never seemed in any way to disconcert
the royal child, who would continue her play,
occasionally speaking to the spectators as though
they were partakers in her enjoyment, which, in
very truth, they were. If, whilst amusing herself
in the enclosed lawn, she observed, as sometimes
happened, many persons collected round the green
railings, she would walk close up to it, and curtsey
and kiss her hand to the people, speaking to all
who addressed her; and when her nurse led her
away, she would again and again slip from her
hand, and return to renew the mutual greetings
between herself and her future subjects, who, as
they contemplated with delight her bounding step
and merry healthful countenance, the index of a
heart full of innocence and joy, were ready
unanimously to exclaim—

"'Long may it be ere royal state
That cherub smile shall dissipate;
Long ere that bright eye's peerless blue,
A sovereign's anxious tear bedew;
Ere that fair form of airy grace,
Assume the regal measured pace;
Or that young, open, cloudless brow,
With truth and joy that glitters now,
The imperial diadem shall wear
Beset with trouble, grief, and care.'"

In an article on Kensington Palace and Gardens,
in the Monthly Register for September, 1802, the
writer somewhat critically remarks:— "All the
views from the south and east facades of the edifice
suffer from the absurdity of the early inspectors of
these grounds. The three vistas opening from the
latter, without a single wave in the outline, without
a clump or a few insulated trees to soften the glare
of the champagne, or diminish the oppressive
weight of the incumbent grove, are among the
greatest deformities. The most exquisite view in
the Gardens is near the north-east angle; at the
ingress of the Serpentine river, which takes an easy
wind towards the park, and is ornamented on either
side by sloping banks, with scenery of a different
character. To the left the wood presses boldly on
the water, whose polished bosom seems timidly to
recede from the dark intruder; to the right, a few
truant foresters interrupt the uniformity of the
parent grove, which rises at some distance on the
more elevated part of the shore; and through the
boles of the trees are discovered minute tracts of
landscape, in which the eye of taste can observe
sufficient variety of light and shade of vegetable and
animal life to gratify the imagination, and disappoint the torpor, which the more sombre scenery to
the east is accustomed to invite.

"The pencil of Claude and Poussin was employed on general landscape; and the transport inspired by their works is from the composition and
general effect, not from the exact resemblance of
objects, to which Swanevelt and Watteau were so
scrupulously attentive. In the landscape of nature,
as well as in the feeble imitations of the artist, individuals deserve some attention. The largest and
most beautiful of all the productions of the earth is
a tree. As the effulgent tints of the insect must yield
to the elegance and proportion of the other orders
of animals, when contemplated by our imperfect
optics, so the gorgeous radiance of the flower
must bend its coronal honours to this gigantic
offspring of nature, whose ample foliage receives all
the splendid effects of light and shade, and gives
arrangement and composition to landscape. The
trees that conduce to the sublime in scenery are
the oak, the ash, the elm, and the beech. It is a
defect in the gardens at Kensington that, excepting
the elm, the whole of this beautiful fraternity is excluded, so that all the variety of tint in the spring
and autumn is lost, and the gardens burst into the
luxuriance of summer, and hasten to the disgrace
of winter, without those gradations which indulgent
Nature has contrived to moderate our transport on
the approach of the one, and to soften our griefs on
the appearance of the other. The dusky fir is the
only melancholy companion the elm is here permitted to possess, who seems to raise his tall funereal
head to insult his more lively associate with approaching decay. If in spring we have not here all
the colours of the rainbow, in the forms of nascent
existence; if in autumn the yellow of the elm, the
orange of the beech, and the glowing brown of the
oak do not blend their fading honours, it must be
acknowledged that the elm is one of the noblest
ornaments of the forest; it is the medium between
the massive unyielding arm of the oak and the
versatile pliancy of the ash; it out-tops the venerable parent of the grove, and seems to extend its
mighty limbs towards heaven, in bold defiance of
the awful monarch of the wood.

"Besides the disadvantage from the uniformity in
the umbrageous furniture of these gardens, there is
another, which we hardly know whether to attribute
to design or accident. A tree rising like an artificial pillar from the smooth earth, without exposing
any portion of the bold angles of its root, not only
loses half its strength, but almost all its dignity.
Pliny, endeavouring to give a grand idea of the
Hercynian forest, describes the magnitude of the
trees in that ancient domain of the Sylvani to be
sufficient to admit mounted cavalry to pass beneath
the huge radical curves. Whatever ornament
Pliny's extravagance might attribute in this respect
on the broad expanse of solitary Nature, this
gigantic wildness would not be at all adapted to
these pigmy haunts of man; but some resemblance,
some approach, should be attempted to the magnificence of her operations.

"'—— A huge oak, dry and dead,
Still cull'd with relics of its trophies old,
Lifting to heaven its aged hoary head.'

"Such an object, with some of our readers,
would be considered a venerable inmate of these
gardens, and to us it would be infinitely preferable to the trim expedients of art. The insulated
majesty of this ancient possessor of the soil would
prevent the intrusion of the timid hand of man, and
the character which this parent of the forest would
impart to the general scenery would secure it from
sacrilegious profanation."